Living
by eckos
Summary: Sometimes, the ghost still speaks to him.


"You're not doing a very good job of it, you know."

"At what, pray tell?"

"Living."

Kougami inhales sharply and tenses, immediately refusing to glance at the apparition now sitting just across from him at the table. As of late it had been getting more and more trying, to look away and ignore the ghost. Harder to ignore the slim frame and sharp collarbone, or the long silver hair that would flash _just_ in the corner of his eye; or the golden orbs he would sometimes catch watching him in the mirror.

"What could possibly give you the right, of all people, to play judge on that matter?"

He hears the soft rustle of fabric on skin that signaled the other had gotten up. Probably to meander aimlessly along the bookcase, running a tapered finger along the spines. Even after death, it seemed that some people never changed. "It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself." The ghost stops in front of the window. "And for myself, alone."

Kougami feels his stomach turn and shifts further away. "I would've never pegged you as a fan of Herman Hesse."

A soft laugh sounds. "I suppose not."

The silence that falls then is staunch and simply _deafening_. And it was always like this, time and time again. The quiet was always much _too_ quiet and the tension carried with it the weight of the world, all settling upon Kougami's tired shoulders. It was these moments that he felt how he had aged. It was these moments that he wondered the infamous, _'what if things could've been different?'_

Light footsteps fall again, muted on the faded carpet of the apartment. Kougami didn't even have to turn back to know where the other was going. They would always pace. And always in front of the window; they liked to watch the city below, they always followed the same patterns. Predictable.

 _Sometimes he wondered what they saw when they looked out at the world._

"I meant what I said." Kougami keeps his eyes averted, lips pursed and stares unseeingly at the foreign newspaper in front of him. The first of its kind he's ever seen. Newspapers had long extinct in Japan. The Ministry of Welfare erased the need for ads and jobs and Sybil took care of everything else. All achievements were to be kept within associate groups to prevent arrogance and jealousy. Stories and reports were hand selected for the masses and reported upon daily. Crime had become, (for the most part), nonexistent.

 _That was all good, wasn't it?_

"So did I."

A soft hum from the other side of the room. Kougami could almost see their fingers running down the smooth surface of the glass. "But you know it, don't you?"

"So what? That does't give you any right to dictate what I do." A pause stretched, held for far too long. "Or keep bothering me." The quiet starts again, roaring. Loud and pounding and all its ever done is give Kougami a terrible migraine and an excuse to lie down. A tidal wave that drowns the world away.

A tired sigh echoes across the room and by the time Kougami had finally gathered the gall to turn and check if the other was still there, even the condensation on the glass had vanished.

:

"I see nothing's changed."

Kougami flinches violently and drops the plate in his hands. Its descent is slow and surreal as it hits the tiled floor. It seemed to shudder as it made contact, before easily shattering into pieces. He stares blankly at the broken ceramic blinking slowly before finally realizing that blood was running in rivets down to meet the felled tableware. A brief spark of annoyance before nothing. It was rare to feel that sort of thing these days. Rare to feel anything but the desire to lie down and forget. Ignore the people on the outside of the apartment walls. Ignore the world that'd jaded him. He was tired, bone tired. He simply no longer had the energy to react properly to pain.

"I thought I'd made it clear that you have no say in what I do." Kougami snaps at them before sluggishly reaching down to pick up the shards while studiously avoiding the other's gaze. Looking at the apparition made it more real; and infinitely harder to ignore."But of course you'd ignore that."

 _Stay._

A soft sound of acknowledgement. Then, "Even if you really, truly wanted me gone; I'm not sure I would even be able to keep away."

 _Then don't._

Kougami can feel the other watching him. Their gaze is always heavy, exceeding so, holding the weight of somebody who know you better than you ever could.

 _It burns._

Rustling movement as the apparition glides past him. Stopping at the beige file that would stare back with its own face. It seemed to be out increasingly often these days, and of course they would notice. It'd almost be disappointing if they didn't. "You need direction."

Kougami twitched. A ghost, telling him how to live. He'd barely noticed that his breathing was speeding up, becoming shallow as the air itself became stale and hard to breathe. The nausea was approaching that always accompanied the ghost, the rolling sick feel that wasn't quite guilt, but not quite regret. They just pushed too hard at every button and hit every switch. Teased about things that hit far too close to home. Their own existence had been- _is_ \- so very _very_ wrong. And even though Kougami knows this; knows that they can't _really_ be here in front of him after everything, all he wants now is to capture them, _own them_ and never _ever_ let them escape from his grasp. And not for the first time Kougami wonders briefly if there's something wrong with him. "And you need to stop thinking I actually give a damn about what you say."

"I'm merely stating the obvious. Surely you can't be so blind to what you've surrounded yourself with. You're worth so much more than what you've let youself become."

There was warm breath on the back of Kougami's neck and long fingers brushing at his shoulder blades. "You're just not doing a very good job at _living_." They croon at him, soft and gentle and _knowing_. It's the closest to concern Kougami's ever heard from them and their touch is so _so_ perfect-

Kougami doesn't turn around. _Can't._ They've plagued every thought and invaded every dream and all Kougami wants in to grab them and pin them to the wall and just _claim_ them as rightfully his-

He slams the broken plate into the sink and stalks out of the kitchen and away from the touch before the water could even splatter the wall.

"Well I seem to have done a better job at it than you."

He didn't even need to turn back around to know that the other would be gone. Leaving only the warm feeling of another lingering on his skin.

:

"You're giving up."

Kougami honestly can't remember the last time he'd left the apartment. He wasn't sure when he realized that it just took too much energy to go _out_. To see the tired faces and dirty streets and clouded air. Coming to realize that this- _this_ \- is what life is without Sybil and it's horribly, painfully beautiful in its own way. That people are truly amazing when allowed to make their own destinies. Coming to realize that the one person who had seen this, who could have granted _this_ beautiful gift to the people of Japan was lying thousands of miles away in a field the color of spun gold.

The nausea rises again.

He looks down to the ground, swallowing thickly, a sudden quiet desperation in finding the filthy fibers more fascinating that the ghost sitting beside him.

 _Close and warm and right there-_

Anything it takes to keep his eyes off of them.

"Don't say stupid things." He hears himself scoff.

A sigh as the other person shifts closer to his side and takes his hand in theirs. Silver strands spill over his shoulder and down his chest as the ghost rests their head on his shoulder.

Kougami feels his heart stutter in his chest.

"Kougami..."

And it startles him. It always catches his off guard when the other says his name like this. Impossibly soft when the speaker is nothing but sharp eyes and a razor smile. And it scares him, really, when he realizes how much he craves that voice. The voice of somebody who could talk even the most prudent angel into sin. Or a high school teacher into murdering a good man. He sometimes wishes he would have taken up the ghosts offer so many years ago to just talk the night away, if not only to hear the other's gentle voice raise in debate and diminish in agreement.

Wishes that he could've pressed his lips to the others without worrying they'd disappear beneath him.

"I-..." He licks his lips.

(Why was his throat so dry?)

(Why couldn't he remember the last time he'd eaten or drank?)

He was far too tired. Far too drained to walk to an empty fridge. Or to walk to a faucet that he hasn't paid the water bill on (in how long?). But not to tired to remember how he'd given up daysmonths _years_ ago when the last ring of the revolver had faded from the air.

Or the dull, final thud of an idealist hitting the ground at his feet.

"I-..." Soft hair was tickling his neck as pale lips press to the underside of his jaw.

"I'm just..." Warm fingers bunching in his shirt and brushing his clavicle as they pull their thin frame onto his lap, bodies (finally, _finally_ ) pressed flush to one another. "So tired." he rasps. His eyes are clenched shut. Looking now would _kill_ him. It would all become far too real, shattering his ililusion of sanity past the point of return. The lips move against Kougami's cheek, trailing fire in their wake. "Everything... everyone else is giving up too."A slight pause as it got harder to breathe. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might best out of his chest snd only the ground in front of him. He swallows. "But you knew that."

 _Why should I try so hard when everything else is just as tired as me?  
_

 _(Is this what dying feels like?)_

There was't an answer. There never really was. Couldn't possibly be.

The dead always remain silent.

Or maybe, it was swallowed by the void between the veil and the us. It seems a long way for the ghost to shout and Kougami doubts their attention would be as focused as his after so much time has passed, not after he was the one to drop the one lifeline they'd had. Not when he'd raised that gun despite everyone and every instinct he had telling him _don't_. Maybe that's why the apparition haunted him now. To make good on Kougami's promise to them, that he really never would be able to replace them.

(And how could he?)

 _Along with the burning touch of someone who was long dead._

The fingers in his shirt loosen their grip as they trail up to his hair, tangling easily in the raven strands.

Another sigh sounds, but Kougami can't tell anymore who's it was. The roaring was so loud. To loud. Hurting. A constant, building pressure that was (far too) slowly suffocating him. Almost like the building before that pop in your ears when you climb altitudes. Constant and impossibly slow. The poison that has been at work ever since the other's untimely end. (Were they talking?) Everything was so loud, and his lungs ached horribly as he realized he had been holding his breath. The fingers curl tighter in his hair, a steady rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn't his own sounding against his chest.

 _Don't leave._

The breath moves to his ear, the warmth raising the baby hairs on his neck. A slight tug of teeth on his earlobe before full lips move against the shell of his ear, leading Kougami to feel the words rather than hear them. When he finally opens his eyes the ghost was long gone. The roars leaving with it, settling to a hollow buzz accompanied with an air of stark finality. Blood-colored crescents in his palms, Kougami is left with only the dull ache of pure _want_ in his gut.

 _"It's not too late just yet."_

 _:End:_


End file.
